


Secrets at Swayze's

by thinkwritexpress



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, NSFW, it's kinda meme-y, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkwritexpress/pseuds/thinkwritexpress
Summary: Sometimes you just need to unwind, and when you find a new bar, it seems like the perfect place to do so. It helps that the band rocks and the owner’s a bit flirty. But then a stranger at the bar takes you home and makes you forget all about the bar and its owner as he rocks your world and wakes you up inside.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Lee Webb/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	Secrets at Swayze's

**Author's Note:**

> Square filled: Crotchless underwear
> 
> Ship: Dean Winchester x reader; Lee Webb x reader slightly (they flirt, but Dean wins, always)
> 
> Rating: M, depictions of cunninlingus 
> 
> Tags/warnings: Vague au? Canon-adjacent/divergent a bit at least. NSFW - Cunninglingus, crotchless underwear
> 
> Word count: 2564 
> 
> Created for @spnkinkbingo
> 
> Notes: Sorry NOT sorry for the total chaos at the end.

The crotchless underwear were bought on one of your confidence-fueled shopping binges, but they had yet to leave your drawer since being bought.

Until today.

You’re not sure what possesses you to wear them, but the voice in your head was not quieted until you walk out the door for work, crotchless panties snug under your skirt.

The closer you get to your office building, the more flushed you feel, but you also feel smug and confident, in ona secret only you know. For once, the feeling that everyone's eyes are on you makes you feel confident, good in your skin and basking in the attention. 

Work goes by in a blur of paperwork and keyboard strokes, and by the time your day is over, you decide alcohol and bar food is exactly what you need. You lose the blazer you’re wearing in your car and fix your hair, making your clothing as relaxed as you can without going home to change.

You drive around until a bar catches your eye - Swayze’s. A huge fan of Patrick Swayze - and especially  _ Roadhouse _ \- you can’t help but stop, your gut telling you it’s the right place for you.

As you walk in, a waitress appears out of nowhere, a knowing smile on her face as she takes in your attire. “Phone please.” she requests, holding out a wicker basket filled with cell phones. You frown, clutching yours tightly, and she nods at the sign hanging by the entrance that says “ _ No cellphones allowed _ .” You cringe and she smiles sympathetically. 

“It’s the owner’s rules. He says it keeps the atmosphere ‘pure’.” She rolls her eyes at the word pure and you relax a little - obviously you’re not the only one who’s hesitated. You shut your phone off then slip it in the basket and the waitress winks at you. “Head up to the bar and get a drink, seems like you’ll need it.” She moves off without another word and you do what she says, hailing the bartender to order some food and a drink.

The drink is in your hand before the food but that’s okay because there’s a band setting up, doing a sound check, and already seats around you are opening up as people move toward the stage. The band is obviously a crowd favorite with how excited and rowdy the audience is, and when they start playing shortly after your food arrives, you can understand why.

Not only is the band good, but the singer is  _ hot _ and his smoky voice warms you to the bones. It seems like his eyes catch yours a few times during the set but you brush the thought aside, though the idea of someone as ruggedly handsome as him noticing you - especially when so little effort had gone into your outfit - was thrilling. A zing of pleasure settles between your legs and you momentary wonder if you’ll leave a wet spot on the chair, but before you can ponder how  _ that _ idea makes you feel, the crowd is cheering and the singer announcing they’re going on a short break and will be back in an hour, so it’s open karaoke until then.

You polish off the last of your food and sit back to people-watch, smiling at how much fun everyone seems to be having. You cringe when someone fails to hit a high note in whatever song they’re singing and ask the bartender for a drink refill as you watch, knowing you’ll need a few more to be able to handle more terrible singing. Shortly after your refill hits your hand, the seat beside you is filled, and you have half a mind to tell whoever it is to fuck off.

Turning to do just that, you freeze when your gaze meets grey eyes. The singer. “Hey darlin, how’s the food?” He asks, nodding at your empty plate.

“Oh, food’s uh, good! Definitely better than typical bar food.” You stumble through the answer, surprised by the question.

The guy grins proudly, holding his hand out to you. “Good answer! I’m the bar’s owner, Lee Webb. I haven’t seen you in here before.”

You shake his hand, shrugging and giving him an easy smile. “Yeah, I tend to be more of a homebody and don’t go out after work, but I needed to unwind today. I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you Lee. You’re a pretty good singer.” You nod toward the stage and he grins wider, puffing up a bit with pride.

“Thanks! I used to think I was goin’ into music, but this bar landed in my lap and I’ve spent most of my grown life buildin’ it up to where it is now. We’re pretty popular this side of the Rocky Mountains. Swayze’s is my pride and joy.” 

“So what kind of name is Swayze’s?” You ask, and Lee looks absolutely  _ horrified _ . 

“Named after the one and only Patrick Swayze, legendary ass-kicker and one hell of a man. I mean, have you seen him in  _ Roadhouse _ ? We follow his ‘roadhouse rules’ whenever we need to. I run this place like his character ran his place, real respectable-like and all.” Lee’s pride is back, and you can’t help but smile at him, heat touching your cheeks. 

“I’m a  _ Dirty Dancing _ kinda gal myself, but I can appreciate Swayze in all forms.” Lee knocks back a drink and chuckles, nodding at you with a smirk. 

Before he can retort though, another man comes up, hazel eyes flicking to you, an appreciative look crossing his face before he focuses on Lee.

“Lee Webb? Is that you? Damn, how long’s it been man?”

“Dean Winchester, in the flesh? I haven’t seen you since what, Arizona? How you doin’ man?” 

You turn back to the bar, obviously having been dismissed, and start to gather your things, but hearing your name stops you, and you turn back to Lee and his friend, eyebrow raised.

“Sorry (Y/N), this is Dean Winchester, an old friend of mine. Dean, this is (Y/N), she’s new to the bar but an appreciator of good music.” Lee glances at his watch then back up at you two. “Can you keep her company? I have another set in a few minutes and need to get up there.” Dean nods and waits patiently for Lee to vacate his seat before sliding into it, ordering a whiskey and smiling at you.

“So, nice to meet you (Y/N). Like Lee said, I’m Dean. My first time at the bar too. I haven’t seen Lee in probably ten years, so all this is new to me.” Dean’s eyes shift around the bar like he’s looking for something, and you feel a bit like he’s waiting for danger, but you can’t tell why. You think to ask but brush aside the thought when Dean focuses his gorgeous green eyes back on you.

“So what do you do during the day?” He asks, making friendly conversation, and you wrinkle your nose before talking about your job. You both watch Lee get through a song or two, but turn back to conversation as Dean tells you stories of his travels, his eyes roving over your form every so often. You and he shift closer to each other under the guise of hearing over the music, but when Dean finally gets bold enough to ask you to leave, you realize the wetness between your legs from his proximity, the heated looks he’s giving you, and his hand on your thigh is your body’s way of telling you that you absolutely want to go with him. 

Without hesitation, you grab Dean’s hand, throw a wad of cash on the bar to pay for drinks and food, then make your way to the entrance where the waitress with the phones are. You both grab yours and she winks at you knowingly when Dean’s back is turned. You smirk and drag Dean outside, only to have him pull you towards a gorgeously sleek black car. 

“This is Baby, she’s my car.” He pats her hood appreciatively and you look at him with awe.

“Dean, this car is  _ gorgeous _ . Let’s get in and go, I don’t care where as long as I get to ride inside.” Dean smirks and nods, opening the passenger door for you like a gentleman before getting in on his own side, starting her up and quickly pulling out of the parking lot. He’s on the route that goes towards your house - he must be staying at the hotel nearby - and the familiar landmarks make the time pass that much faster, which is a relief. The growing heat in your body is an indicator of your need and you’re doing your best not to squirm in your seat. You can feel the car’s vibrations through the leather and it’s  _ delicious _ . 

Despite you not saying anything about it, Dean seems to know how the car works its magic, because he revs the engine a bit, making the vibrations more intense, and you suck in a sharp breath; Dean smirks in response, his gaze flicking over you and your legs pressed tightly together before returning his eyes to the road. He rests one hand on your thigh, the other on the steering wheel, and he rubs his thumb along your leg slowly, fingertip brushing the bottom of your skirt, which had ridden up when you sat in the car.

When you arrive at the motel, Dean opens the car door for you, a playful grin stretching wide, and you grin back, face heating a bit as you tug down your skirt to its original length. Dean leads you to his room and opens the door, blushing a bit when you get a look at the inside. 

“It, uh, it ain’t much, but it works for what I need. I travel a lot for work. Anyway, just uh, make yourself comfortable. You want a drink? We have some whiskey around here somewhere…” When you nod toward the second bed, he shrugs. “I work and travel with my brother. He’s doing god-knows-what right now, and knows I want the place to myself tonight, so he won’t be bothering us.” A sinful smirk graces his lips and you bite back a surprised squeak. 

“W-whiskey’s fine,” you mumble, eyes scanning the rest of the room. It’s a basic motel room, nothing fancy, and belatedly you realize that you could be trying to sleep with a serial killer, but if the room is any indicator, he’s pretty normal. 

Shaking the thought from your head, you watch Dean pour two glasses of whiskey, and try not to stare as he takes a drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows the liquid. You knock back your glass, the burn boosting your courage. Setting the glass down, you sway over to Dean’s lap, settling yourself in, skirt riding high. 

“Hey there sweetheart. You sure you wanna do this?” He asks, eyebrows raised. You squint a bit, giving him an “are you serious?” kind of look, and Dean laughs, nodding. “Sorry, sorry, I just want to be sure. I’m all yours, have me as you will.” He motions to himself like an offering, and you hesitate as you look him over, trying to decide what to remove first. 

Dean gently pushes you back a bit and makes the decision for you, shedding his flannel and his t-shirt, leaving him bare-chested in front of you. Your eyes roam his chest, littered with scars and a tattoo over his heart. You trace the pattern as it vaguely sets off bells in your head, but you can’t remember why - perhaps it had come up in your studies in college? 

Rolling your eyes at the thought, you lean down and kiss Dean’s shoulder, nipping gently. Dean hisses in pleasure and you smirk; should’ve known he’d like it a bit rough. With that in mind, you slowly roll your hips against his as you kiss and nip his skin, teasing, the rub of his jeans slightly uncomfortable but still friction, which is exactly what you want. 

With a groan, Dean lifts you up and off his lap, carefully setting you down in your own chair. He works his belt open and off quickly, his pants sliding down his legs even quicker, and you smirk at how eager he is. Of course, you’re just as eager as he is, but he doesn’t need to know that, right?

Dean kneels in front of you and tugs at your skirt, an unspoken question. Smiling, you unzip the side zipper and lift your hips, allowing Dean to tug the garment off. You unbutton your shirt and wiggle out of it, grinning. Dean doesn’t know your panties are crotchless, and though a flash of nervousness slips through your body, you brush it aside; he seems like the kind of guy to enjoy them.

You’re proven right when seconds later he pulls your legs apart and his eyes light up at the sight of your body before him, lace framing your folds. “ _ Fuck” _ he whispers under his breath, and the hunger in his eyes warms you to your core, making you feel sexier than you have in far too long.

“Please Dean, I wanna feel you, put your mouth on me!” Your words are a mix of a plea and a demand and you’re not sure which spurs Dean to action, but it works because he buries his face between your legs, eagerly lapping at your entrance. He brushes over your clit with his tongue a few times, soft and sensuous, then continues his ministrations, his tongue delving in, but then he pulls away as your orgasm gets close and you whine, pouting down at him. Dean lifts his face and smirks at you, then presses kisses to your thighs, sucking hard enough to leave marks in a few places. 

He tugs at the lace of your panties with his teeth and you giggle a little, the movement funny and adorable despite the heat of the moment. 

_ It was the heat of the moment _

_ Telling me what my heart meant _

_ The heat of the moment showed in your eyes _

_ And now you find yourself in '82 _

_ The disco hot spots hold no charm for you _

_ You can concern yourself with bigger things _

_ You catch a pearl and ride the dragon's wings _

Your alarm screams from beside you and you bolt upright, chest heaving, arm slapping at the alarm to shut it off. There’s an uncomfortable wetness between your legs and a heated ache in your stomach that screams your arousal. Frustrated, you kick off your blankets and rub your eyes, trying to take deep breaths. Sex dreams about Dean never get far enough, and torment you far too much.

Before you can dwell on it, there’s loud knocking at your door, and you grab your blankets back up to your chest, covering yourself. Just in time too, because the object of your nightly sexual fantasies walks in, holding a packet of paper. 

“Hey, Sam’s found us a case, here’s the details. We’re leaving in two hours.” He drops the packet on your dresser, then lets his eyes rake over you. A shiver involuntarily makes its way down your spine and Dean smirks, winking at you before walking out. “See you in a bit, (Y/N).”

It was going to be one long hunt.


End file.
